Can I learn to move past it?
Closure means stepping forward, but I’ve been wrapped in the memory of her. I don’t know who I am without her presence shadowing my soul.
Even when she was thousands of miles away, I clung to her through hurt and hope.
Eliza and Carter take turns sitting on the opposite side of the table, dragging me into small talk. I answer on autopilot.
“Thank you for the referral,” Eliza beams. “Lorena called me about her Hampton place. At this rate, I’ll have to hire people. Can you imagine? Having employees?”
“They’ll have the best boss,” I say.
Carter squints at me. “Are you catatonic?”
“Cleaning out the clutter in my head.”
“Needs a good scrub too,” he mutters.
“Probably.”
Snack bags rustle. A video game pings repetitively. The chatter snags the frayed edges of my thoughts just as they begin to form, tearing them apart, so I pop in my earbuds. I needthe playlistbefore my mind eats itself alive.
Music unfurls, and with it, flashes of memories rush through my mind. White drops of wax on delicate skin, a stifled gasp, the quick flutter of her pulse under my fingertips.
Can’t chance another glance at her. I need to think.
She’s been running through my bloodstream for eight years. I told myself I kept going back for revenge, for some twisted balance. But if I accept the apology and we both go on with our lives…I lose the excuse to be near her.
When the wheels bounce on the runway, my body is stiff. My legs are pins and needles. And my head’s a mess.
Jackie’s still in the back chair, downcast, until we’re clear to exit the plane.
I want to reach her, but on her way out, she’s boxed in by her bodyguards. Outside the plane, her heels click on the metal stairs, the hot, humid air lashing the tarmac, blowing the hair out of her face. The exhaustion written on her features confirms my suspicions. She didn’t sleep either.
Jackie slides straight into one of the two black SUVs waiting for us, with not so much as a glance my way. She’s doing it again. Deciding for both of us: conversation over.
Carter looks at her with a frown, then tips his chin for me to follow him.
And all I can think is, that’s not the car I wanted to be in right now.
“My feet are killing me.” Eliza’s groan ripples through the quiet interior courtyard.
The silverware scrapes louder here, disturbing the hush beneath the old olive tree. The hum of the canals drifts out of reach between the timeworn bricks adorned with faded stucco.
Across from her on the wrought-iron bench, Carter takes her ankle and starts massaging the arch of her foot.
“You’re paying for that list of yours,” he teases. “Nobody forced you to check every place on that map.”
We’d spent the day dodging pigeons in St. Mark’s Square and hunting for a specific hidden bacaro that supposedly served the best fried olives in Italy. We had walked miles of crumbling stone alleyways, fueled by shots of espresso and cups of blackberry gelato that stained our lips purple.
“Are you kidding? What if I never get to come here again?”
Carter laughs, warmth shining in his eyes. “Kitten…I’ll fly you out here anytime you want.”
She still hasn’t come to grips with the reality of the kind of money he wields. Eliza’s like me, even had it rougher. For us, a trip to Europe used to be a lottery-winning dream.
“Oh, I was just so excited.” She hikes a shoulder. “And you never know.”
Carter’s voice eases to a murmur. “Nobody’s taking this from you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure all your dreams come true.”
